


winter is all over you

by emlof



Category: Naruto
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 03:48:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17195936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlof/pseuds/emlof
Summary: Yamato is peering ahead, trying to determine the best path across the ice, when he hears a quiet splash from just behind him – strange, he thinks, since the whole river looks frozen over and he hadn’t heard anything crack.“Kakashi,” he calls behind him, “did you hear that? What do you think it was?”There’s no response.





	winter is all over you

“It’s shorter if we cut across the river, like this,” Kakashi says, drawing an arc on the map that he’s scribbled in the snow.

They’re huddled behind a tree, Yamato spreading his cloak like a curtain in a futile attempt to shield Kakashi from the wind as he lays out their plan forward. It’s already snowing, hard, but their brief pause has at least given them a chance to get their bearings in the desolate wintery landscape.

“Are you sure, senpai? We could stay here for the night if I made a shelter,” Yamato offers, hesitant. Kakashi doesn’t even consider it, barely even lifting his head to fix Yamato with an unimpressed stare before turning back to his rough sketch of the terrain. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Tenzō, I’m sure you’re exhausted after all of that,” Kakashi says, this time meeting his gaze as his eye crinkles into a weary grin. “I know I am.” 

Yamato huffs but doesn’t press it, because Kakashi’s right – he’s tired down to his bones, can feel the beginnings of low-grade chakra exhaustion creeping up on him. They had been aiming to make it back to the village before nightfall, but between their own exhaustion and the threatening clouds looming overhead, Yamato is starting to doubt their chances. Not for the first time, he wonders what he did to incur Tsunade’s wrath – he can’t think of another reason he would be stuck on a trip this far north in the dead of winter. 

He’s always felt out of place in the snow – something about the lack of life above the surface makes him uneasy, wary of the deadened sounds and dulled colors that are so unlike what he’s grown used to in Konoha. The quiet reminds him a little too much of other silent places in his life, and he’s always been keen to avoid those reminders if he can help it.

Kakashi, on the other hand, looks like he was made for winter, he muses as the other man steeples his fingers, deep in thought. The pale landscape complements Kakashi’s own muted coloring, and his chakra control is so tight that he practically ghosts across the snow, flitting between trees without leaving a trace. That morning they had left before dawn; the rays glinting off the snow as the sun rose had caught in Kakashi’s hair and he had looked ethereal, almost otherworldly, in the morning light.

“Anyways, I think I remember an old Leaf safehouse somewhere around here—” his teammate is still talking, Yamato realizes with a start as Kakashi traces a haphazard circle in the snow— "we used to get restocking missions out here when I was still a genin,” he continues, oblivious to Yamato’s mental detour. “I doubt it’s in use anymore, but we could probably stay there for the night.” 

As much as Yamato would prefer to stay in a shelter of his own creation, he can see the logic of Kakashi’s idea, or at least the part he had been paying attention to. It’s a good plan, and he says as much, which earns him a grin and what looks suspiciously like a nice-guy pose before Kakashi scuffs up where he’d drawn the map in the snow and heads towards the river, any traces of their passing soon to be buried.

 

It wasn’t a good plan, Yamato realizes about halfway across the river. The ice is uneven and not nearly as thick as it had looked from the shore, and the snowstorm, bad enough before they set out, has only gotten worse. If it had been hard to see earlier, now it’s nearly impossible – all that lies before them is a wall of solid white, and the wind whipping against his eyes means Yamato has to squint, only slivers of the landscape visible through his lashes.

He’s peering ahead, trying to determine the best path across the ice, when he hears a quiet splash from just behind him – strange, he thinks, since the whole river looks frozen over and he hadn’t heard anything crack.

“Kakashi,” he calls behind him, “did you hear that? What do you think it was?” 

There’s no response.

Again, strange – but it’s possible Kakashi just hadn’t heard him; between the wind and the muffling effect of the snow they’ve had to shout to be heard the entire time. 

But when he looks back, Kakashi is gone. 

Suddenly, Yamato is utterly alone, nothing but him and the vast sea of white that’s surrounding him, air so dense with snow he feels like he could suffocate in it. 

“Kakashi..?” he calls out, louder this time as he retraces his steps, although the storm is quickly obscuring any tracks they might have left behind. But there isn’t even an echo, just the howling wind around him – and then, even quieter than before, that same faint splashing sound. 

Yamato looks down towards the source of the sound to see a hole in the ice – almost invisible in the storm, but just big enough for a person to slip through, especially if they were exhausted and more focused on navigating in low visibility than they were on the ice below—

“Oh, _no,_ ” he breathes, trying not to panic as he estimates how long it’s been since he first heard Kakashi slip under, how much time he’s wasted tramping around above the surface. He tries not to imagine Kakashi underwater, eye wide and desperately pounding on the ice he’s trapped beneath.

Every single instinct is telling him to cut a hole in the ice right there, to get Kakashi out as fast as possible – but the thin ice is already unstable, and that could make it even worse. 

It doesn’t help either of them if he falls in too, Yamato reminds himself, all his worries of chakra exhaustion forgotten as he calls up two wood clones and watches as they both dive into the frigid water – the next best thing after going in himself. That leaves him, alone again on the ice and stuck waiting for something, _anything_ to happen.

Spreading out his body weight, he slides forward on his stomach towards the spot Kakashi had initially fallen through, sticking one hand in the water in what he hopes will be enough of a beacon for his clones underwater. It’s reckless, he knows, could all too easily lead to him slipping in as well – but he can’t just do _nothing,_ and if this can help, even at all, it will have been worth it.

He had expected to be uncomfortable when he shoved his hand in, but it’s worse than cold – his fingers start to go numb almost immediately in the icy water. After that there’s nothing for him to do but wait, anxiously counting the seconds and trying not to think about how long Kakashi might be able to hold his breath after the initial shock of hitting the water.

When he feels something bump against his hand, a weak grip wrapping around his wrist, he doesn’t give himself time to think, just pulls, struggling for traction as he hauls Kakashi out of the water and practically into his lap.

He holds still for just a moment, heart in his throat and hearing narrowed to where he’s straining to listen for signs of life.

The wind is still whipping up around them, but all Yamato can hear is deafening silence where breathing should be for one moment, then two, three. There’s an unpleasant tightness in his chest, something painful and on the verge of breaking, then—

The breath in his ear is shallow and choking, and Yamato thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

All the air rushes out of him in one shaky, relieved exhale as Kakashi rolls to the side, shoulders heaving as he coughs up river water. As soon as he’s confident Kakashi can at least breathe on his own Yamato is up, slinging one of Kakashi’s arms around his shoulder and moving blindly towards what he hopes is the opposite shore as he’s overwhelmed by the sudden _need_ to get off the ice, as far from the danger as he can possibly manage. 

The clones dispel just as he reaches the riverbank and Yamato stumbles from the shock of it, drawing an involuntary gasp at the force of the icy water, even as a memory. For Kakashi to have spent as long as he did in _that—_

Safely off the ice, Yamato collapses into a snowbank to catch his breath. He can still feel the dull horror his clones had felt at being trapped under the ice, the terror of it creeping up in the back of his thoughts, but he forces it aside for now, instead cursing his low chakra reserves as he waits for Kakashi’s breathing to even out. He could have made a shelter, before, but after using the clones he can feel the persistent drain signaling it would be too risky now – they’ll have to hope that Kakashi’s half-remembered safehouse is still out here, or they’ll be spending the night out in the open. 

His legs are shaking, he realizes belatedly, although it’s nothing compared to the tremors running through Kakashi’s sodden form as the icy air hits him. He still hasn’t stopped sucking in air in huge, shuddering gasps, mask around his chin as he catches his breath. 

“Tenzō,” Kakashi starts, but he breaks off to cough, thick and wet, before he can finish whatever he was trying to say. Yamato helps him sit up, gripping his shoulders tight and trying not to think about how Kakashi’s lips have started to turn blue.

“Hey, no, don’t try to talk, I’ve got you,” he says, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around Kakashi in a futile attempt to ward off the chill. “I’ve got you.” 

Kakashi just closes his eyes, tilting into Yamato’s shoulder in silent acknowledgement. 

“We should keep moving before this storm gets any worse – do you think you can find the safehouse from here?” Yamato asks, tentative, and is relieved when Kakashi gives a single slow nod and moves to stand on unsteady legs. Without his cloak, the wind cuts to the bone; Yamato can’t imagine how freezing Kakashi must be, soaked through as he is. When Kakashi leans heavy against Yamato’s side, he can’t bring himself to mind, just tightens his hold as they stagger towards shelter.

 

By the time they reach the safehouse Kakashi looks truly miserable, and Yamato is panting with the exertion of half-carrying Kakashi as the rush of adrenaline starts to ebb away.

“Wow,” Yamato murmurs as they stagger inside to find a thick layer of dust coating the room, “this place looks like it hasn’t been touched since the Third War.” 

It’s not an exaggeration – the structure is barely more than a shed, and has clearly fallen into disrepair. A single blanket lays at the end of a mattress on the floor in the corner. There’s a cabinet that looks like it may have contained food and first aid supplies once, but years of neglect have left it open to the elements and it stands empty. The thin walls are full of cracks, letting in a frigid draft. Still, Yamato allows, it’s dry and mostly out of the wind, and certainly better than what’s waiting for them outside. 

Kakashi looks half-conscious on his feet where he’s sagging against the wall, so Yamato does a hasty sweep for traps before guiding him onto the thin, lumpy mattress. 

They’re far enough into safe territory that Yamato thinks a fire is a risk he’s willing to take – he doesn’t like the way Kakashi’s skin, already pale, looks practically translucent now, the way he can see blue lines tracing under his skin. The fact that Kakashi hasn’t used a single jutsu to warm himself or dry his clothes means he’s closer to complete chakra exhaustion than he’d been letting on; Yamato would be furious with him if he weren’t so worried. The old cabinet is sacrificed to the cause, and Yamato uses the best katon he can manage to get a feeble fire going, as close to the mattress as possible.

His clothes aren’t quite as soaked as Kakashi’s, but he still strips to his underwear, unselfconscious after years of living in barracks. He drapes the rest of his uniform over a chair near the fire in the hope it might dry by the morning. 

Kakashi follows suit, but slower, hands sluggish with cold. Another thing to worry over, Yamato thinks, frowning and fighting the sudden, overwhelming urge to gather Kakashi up in his arms until he’s warmed through again. 

“Don’t make t-that face at me, Tenzō,” Kakashi says, teeth chattering. Yamato fixes him with a glare in a belated attempt to save face and turns back to surveying the room.

Upon further inspection, the blanket he’d initially seen has been partially eaten through by moths and is mostly threadbare – Yamato wraps Kakashi in it anyways, just to get another layer between him and the frigid air, and ignores his protests.

“Senpai, please just try to warm up. I’ll take the watch,” Yamato says, trying to imbue his voice with authority. Kakashi raises an eyebrow at him, a faint impression of his usual skepticism, and Yamato knows he’s been utterly unconvincing, that Kakashi can probably hear the concern and uncertainty in his voice crystal clear.

“I can stay up – really, I’m fine,” Kakashi argues. “You’re overreacting.” 

It almost sounds plausible, is certainly close to Kakashi’s normal mission behavior – but Yamato can see exhaustion in the deep lines etched into Kakashi’s face and the slump of his shoulders, the way he’s clearly still shivering, and rounds on him, suddenly angry.

“Fine? You’re _fine?_ ” he hisses, “Kakashi, you could’ve—”

He cuts himself off before he says more than he should, whirling to face the fire rather than look at the wide-eyed, searching expression Kakashi is suddenly wearing and trying not to think about the line of Kakashi’s shoulders, tense and slight in the flickering light of the fire.

“Take the bed. And the blanket. _Sleep,_ Kakashi,” Yamato mutters. “I’ll take the watch.” 

He’s met with silence. There’s a quiet breath from behind him, like Kakashi is going to say something – but no words come, and soon enough Yamato hears the soft rustle of fabric as Kakashi gives in. 

 

Night falls, and the winds show no sign of stopping. It howls outside the door of the tiny, drafty cabin, each gust blowing snow under the door. The building has fallen into disrepair over the years, and one of the windows is no longer fully sealed shut; Yamato can hear the wind whistling through it and feels the chilly draft even seated as he is in front of the fire. Not for the first time that night, he wishes he had the chakra to sustain a mokuton long enough to make a more airtight structure, and he sighs as he shifts closer to the heat.

He’s still cold enough to be uncomfortable, but it’s no longer the aching cold from before, the kind that cut straight to the bone. Yamato sighs, staring into the flames and stretching as feeling returns to his fingers and his joints grow less painfully tight.

He looks over to where Kakashi is huddled under the blanket and his breath catches in his throat – somehow he’d forgotten how _small_ Kakashi really is, how, for all his lean muscle and undeniable power as a shinobi, he’s actually quite slender. Once the mask and hitai-ate and flak vest are stripped away he seems—  


Delicate, Yamato would say, although Kakashi would probably beat him into the ground the next time they sparred if he ever gave voice to that particular thought. Where Yamato has started to warm up, he can still see faint tremors running through Kakashi’s body under the blanket, can’t ignore the tension in his shoulders and the pinched, drawn expression he’s wearing. With his face bared Yamato can see the way Kakashi’s jaw is clenched, the slight downward pull of his lips. 

Yamato stares at the ceiling, counting backwards from one hundred to give himself time to talk himself out of a sudden, ill-conceived plan.

There are many things about their current situation that Yamato has no control over – the bitter wind outside, the snowstorm preventing them from sending even a summons for help, the chakra exhaustion preventing them from using anything but the most basic of jutsu – but this, Kakashi’s painfully obvious discomfort, he might be able to do something about. Confronted with Kakashi’s shivering frame, his will to keep watch all but vanishes. Looking away from the ceiling, he scrubs a hand over his face and moves towards the bed.

“Budge over, senpai,” he says, “I know you’re awake.”

Kakashi moves over almost automatically, even before Yamato’s words seem to register with him. “Thought you were… s-staying up,” he says, a violent shiver running through his body as Yamato lifts the covers. 

Yamato just raises an eyebrow at him. “That was when I thought you might warm up sometime in the next decade. I’m not going to let you freeze to death in the night, Kakashi, and besides, anyone idiotic enough to try to attack in this kind of weather couldn’t be that hard to handle.” 

“’m f-fine,” Kakashi grumbles, chattering teeth undermining his argument, “never been warmer.” Yamato rolls his eyes and climbs into the bed. 

He had known Kakashi would be cold, of course, but the intensity of it surprises him. Every inch of the other man’s skin feels like ice, and Yamato lets out a surprised gasp at the touch. 

“God, Kakashi, why didn’t you say something?” he demands, frustrated, but he doesn’t listen for an answer, instead focusing on wrapping himself around Kakashi as much as possible, almost unthinkingly. Kakashi’s back is resting against his chest, but it’s still not enough – he can still feel faint tremors running through the other man’s body. 

Seeming to accept that arguing in the face of Yamato’s concern is pointless – and maybe realizing that Yamato is, in fact, an excellent heat source – Kakashi gives in, protesting more out of habit than any real resistance and letting himself be manhandled so that Yamato has his back to the wall, taking the brunt of the cold. Yamato tugs Kakashi’s face into his chest, only wincing a little bit when a freezing nose presses against bare skin, and twines their legs together, determined to surround him with as much warmth as possible.

“D-didn’t realize I worked with a furnace,” Kakashi forces out, trying for humor that Yamato just can’t force himself to feel. “We should do this more often, T-tenzō, it could really lower my heating bill.” 

Yamato frowns, belatedly realizing after an awkward silence that Kakashi can’t see his face. “You are _never_ doing that again, not unless you want to give me a heart attack,” he says, emphatic, and is rewarded with a faint puff of air against his collarbone when Kakashi laughs.

“But you’re so dashing when you’re being heroic,” he teases. 

“Shut up, senpai,” Yamato mutters, heat rising on his face. Mercifully, Kakashi doesn’t say anything beyond another quiet huff of laughter, and they fall into an easy silence. He can feel Kakashi’s heartbeat, as close as they are, and although it’s slower than Yamato would have liked it’s still _there,_ a steady beat against Yamato’s chest. He’s alright. He’s alive. 

Slowly, gradually, it starts to work – Kakashi is still shivering, but not so violently, and his teeth have stopped chattering, at least. He falls into an uneasy sleep, body exhausted enough to win out over his mind, but Yamato can’t do the same – he can’t stop thinking about the moment Kakashi vanished through the ice, the stab of fear that shot through him when he realized he couldn’t see the other man. Can’t stop thinking about just how cold Kakashi’s hands are where they’re pressed against Yamato’s chest. 

He stares blankly at the fire long after nightfall, listening to Kakashi’s breathing even out and trying not to let his thoughts linger on what almost was.

 

He’s unconsciously pulled Kakashi closer, Yamato realizes later in the night, probably closer than even the persistent chill strictly requires. He feels less like ice, now, would probably be fine if Yamato unwound their tangled limbs and left him alone. But he can’t find the will to loosen his grip – and besides, Kakashi is still asleep. There’s no harm in indulging his protective instincts, just for tonight. 

“You scared me, senpai,” he whispers, finally giving in to the urge to run his fingers through Kakashi’s still-damp hair. “I don’t know what I would’ve done, if you hadn’t come back up.”  


There’s a beat of silence, then—

“’m sorry, Tenzō,” Kakashi murmurs against his chest. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yamato stiffens at the unexpected response. “Ah, Kakashi, I’m – that is, I—” he realizes belatedly that his hand is still tangled in Kakashi’s hair, removes it but doesn’t know quite what to do with it and settles on letting it hover awkwardly above Kakashi’s shoulder, unsure of whether or not he should touch the other man. 

“Tenzō.” Kakashi says his name not as a question or a command but as a statement, and Yamato finds himself looking down without thinking to meet Kakashi’s gaze. “I mean it. I’m sorry. I should have been more careful, before. And, I should have said – thank you.” 

Yamato has spent the entire night thinking up lectures, waiting for Kakashi to wake up so he could berate him for being careless and taking unnecessary risks and not thinking through the impact his lack of self-preservation has on his teammates – but he meets Kakashi’s eye and it all slips away in an instant. 

“Kakashi,” he breathes, tilting his head forward until their foreheads are pressed together, “I—” 

He stops, unsure of what he had meant to say. He’s suddenly, painfully aware of the way his pulse rushes in his ears, how Kakashi can almost certainly feel the hammering of his heartbeat, as close as they are to one another. Kakashi is still looking up at him, expression soft, and maybe it’s the lingering adrenaline or maybe it’s the heat of Kakashi’s skin against his own that tips him over the edge but Yamato doesn’t hesitate as he leans down, pressing his lips against Kakashi’s in a hot, desperate kiss. Kakashi is still for one moment, two—but then he moves against Yamato, an affirmation that _yes, I’m here, I’m alive._ Somehow Yamato’s fingers are twisted in Kakashi’s hair again of their own accord, deepening the kiss, and then—

Yamato feels the slight pressure of Kakashi’s tongue, flicking against his lips, and pulls away with a shaky breath. Kakashi is flushed before him, pale skin dusted with pink, and his lips are slightly swollen. Yamato is sure his own eyes are wide, can feel the blush rising on his own face even as Kakashi smiles and brings one hand up, fingers tracing delicately across his cheek. 

“Alright, Tenzō?” he asks, voice soft, and after a moment of hesitation Yamato nods slowly. 

This time it’s Kakashi who closes the gap between them, pressing up into a soft, slow kiss that takes Yamato’s breath away even more than the first. It’s unhurried and sweet and Yamato can feel Kakashi smiling against his mouth, his own lips curling up in response.

“I was so worried,” he whispers when they pull apart for air, “you asshole.”

Kakashi laughs, a little hum of amusement, and stretches out languidly beside him. “Keep me safe, then,” he teases, rolling them so Yamato is fully on top of him. The wind is still howling outside, and the fire is gradually dying down, but underneath the threadbare blanket is their own world, safe and warm and quiet. Yamato feels almost dizzy at the thought of it. He trails his thumb along Kakashi’s jaw, watches in wonder as his eyes flutter shut with a quiet, breathy sigh.

They could have lost this, he realizes, breath catching in his throat. One missed step and he might have never known how Kakashi flushes all the way down to his shoulders, how his eyes soften when he runs a hand through Yamato’s hair. The thought makes him ache, and there’s an uncomfortable stinging in his eyes.

“I thought I told you not to make that face at me,” Kakashi says, soft and low, stroking his thumb across Yamato’s forehead as if he could soothe away his worries by smoothing out the creases in his brow. 

“I know,” Yamato chokes out, “Sorry, it’s just— I just—” 

He breaks off, a little unsteady, but Kakashi doesn’t seem to mind, tugging Yamato down until he’s no longer holding himself up. Like this, Yamato can feel the rise and fall of Kakashi’s chest as he breathes, slow and even. He winds their fingers together, presses a soft kiss over Kakashi’s pulse where it beats steady in his throat. The sting behind his eyes starts to fade. 

Below him, Kakashi is finally warm; he murmurs something whisper-soft into Yamato’s hair as he drifts asleep. Yamato can’t make out the words, but he feels a quiet comfort at them all the same.

 

“You know, if I had known this was all it took to get in bed with you I would’ve done it years ago,” Kakashi mumbles the next morning, half-awake, and Yamato is glad the other man’s eyes are still closed because he can feel a bright flush rising on his cheeks. 

“If I thought you did that on purpose I’d have killed you myself,” he says, punching Kakashi’s shoulder as the other man shakes with silent laughter. “Idiot.”

The fire has gone out overnight, and the cabin is as drafty as ever, but it’s the warmest Yamato has ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> if you can believe it this started out with the intention of being a holiday story but then my useless brain was like “oh worm? snow?” and we ended up with this. anyways be safe around ice this winter and.. happy holidays ig?? 
> 
> title is from a first aid kit song i believe


End file.
